….I’m exhausted. Shut the door behind you….
Spent, she lay back, sinking into the womb like caress of her bed. She would give almost anything to feel right. What did right feel like anyway? The weeks were all blurring together. Each three week cycle etched into her brain a rotation of nausea, constipation and terrifying fogs that turned thought to mist.
Yet, this was the last. No more hours tethered to a beeping draconian master. A last bowing to an inevitability. Something shifted inside her. An almost forgotten sensation. What was it?
It was hope...